


Distractions

by TheLittleDayDreamer



Category: Batman (Comics), Incredibles (Pixar Movies)
Genre: F/M, I Don't Even Know, Mashup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-02-01 02:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21337468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleDayDreamer/pseuds/TheLittleDayDreamer
Summary: Rouge Mode wasn't exactly a 'people' person. Unfortunately, Timothy Drake had involuntarily become her first assignment.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 8





	Distractions

“Drake”

“Mode.”

The twenty-four-year-old raised an eyebrow at the young-man’s snippy attitude, the large distance between them had created a rather cutthroat tension. Sighing, she pushed some loose strands of hair out of her face though secretly watching him fiddle with the _Galbaki_ cufflinks that had been reflecting off the pale white walls. Rouge was sure her mother would’ve had strong words with Mr. Wayne about his previous poor endeavours when selecting so-called elite designers. Alexander Galbaki wouldn’t know high-fashion even if it hit him over the head with a six-inch stiletto.

His creations were impractical at best and the models were pretentious at worst, so it’s likely the main reason the boy-wonder had been left in _her _care, not that there was much of an age-difference, but he surely had no experience in fashion.

Timothy Drake had involuntarily become her first assignment.

The pair were already _well _acquainted with one-another, making the task at hand much harder than it needed to be. They had met on numerous occasions, primarily at public relations events and became close friends whilst she worked for Maroni as a bunny server.

Edna had branded the period ‘_the playful art of rebellion.’ _Though, Rouge knew even her mother had a soft-spot for the iconic, minimalist bunny-suit, and _minimal_ it had been but her days of partying and stuffing cleavage in a tight one-piece were behind her. That was, until this painful reminder showed up on her doorstep.

There had been rumours of an extravagant charity event Bruce Wayne was holding to raise funds for the people of Gotham living in poverty, the girl couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the shameless gesture; the rich partying amongst themselves for the well-being of the poor. Though you really can’t be too negative after discovering billionaire’s nightly-endeavours. It was rather admirable; fighting for a city that should’ve been buried deep beneath no-man’s land. Regardless, it wasn’t Wayne himself she had to deal with; it was one of his _many _sons.

Noticing his eyes rake over her slender silhouette she felt a sense of amusement. Admittedly Rouge wasn’t wearing the most conservative option in the world, but she had nothing to hide from him. The figure underneath the silky scarlet kimono that had be tied quite loose was nothing he hadn’t seen; so, the clothing was purely decorative at this point.

They’d sat apart for what felt like forever. Him, perched comfortably on her plush black sofa, arm thrown over the back and herself resting against the marble counter-top leading into her kitchen. It just was enough time to go through a cigarette each, but Tim’s still hung from his lips, her’s long discarded. She’d had the habit significantly longer which made finishing a pack like child’s-play. Nobody would be proud confessing to such a thing, she wasn’t either, but the burning sticks of disease filled a vile hole. They made her feel _everything_ and _nothing_.

In some fucked-up way, so did Tim.

She’d craved the warmth of his touch on her delicate skin, the sublet roughness of every grab and hold of her body, the man just oozed confidence that was expected from the all-too cocky vigilante.

Even so, the smartly dressed twenty-five-year old that sat before her was simply a distant memory of the reckless, damaged Timothy Drake she once knew.

Rogue had heard whispers of his whereabouts. Some claiming there to be a new Robin on the beat, others saying that Wayne Enterprises had come under new management, lead by the CEO’s son.

The apartment’s deathly atmosphere was swallowing them, but they had to speak eventually, or she would never be trusted with a client again. Her mother, shrugging it off as childish and unprofessional behaviour.

Edna didn’t know _much_ about Tim, nor how he and Rouge were _involved _with one-anotherand it’s probably for the best. The woman had made something very clear, both during her career and personal life that the artist must always _behold the control, _if not, they were merely a seamstress following orders with no creative liberty. Therefore, having knowledge a young philanthropist had seen her daughter in the most vulnerable state possible, would be considerably unnerving.

Tim Drake was a plain canvas, a fresh start. His body-proportions whilst well defined and simple, meaning she could play little more with designs without having to worry about an unflattering piece. She’d spoken to Edna over the phone regarding the colour pallet, as to go off-brand during her_ first_ collection would ultimately be damning to her mother’s legacy. The problem was, Tim’s suborn nature.

He’d been adamant on one thing; no red.

Rouge almost snorted at the irony. _Almost._

* * *

“Tim!” She playfully scolded trying to steady herself as he pulled them through the crowds of businessmen and socialites looking for an alcoholic-buzz and maybe a quick fuck with a wealthy heiress while they’re at it. 

“Estelle will kill me if I’m not on the floor!”

From a distance Richard Grayson followed the teen’s quick movement, easily identifying the blood-red bunny ears bouncing around through a sea of monochromatic suits and champagne flutes. He groaned, knowing it’d likely be him, alone for the rest of the night whilst Drake got to go play with his little pet. She wasn’t immune to their suspicion though; Bruce already done a background-check the minute he’d gotten a whiff of her potent perfume dripping from the current boy-wonder. Rouge Mode, she was wearing her mother’s trademark aroma, rose with a hint of tobacco.

Edna Mode had never been an issue for the Wayne’s, in fact she was a rather admirable information barer. The problem was, her allegiance or lack thereof. Similarly, with Gotham’s resident medical practitioners; she remained impartial by aiding anyone who was willing to pay for it. Falcone, Cobblepot and Maroni being a handful of her infamous clientele as well as Bruce himself. Who’s to say her daughter wasn’t the brought up on the same questionable morals?

Barbara was out of town with Dinah Lance, and Jason was… well _Jason. _They didn’t need a body-count on this one, it was just a simple recon mission.

Authorities had been collecting intel on the glamorous club for months. It was Maroni’s newest addition and getting increasingly dangerous as each night flew in. Hushed words of both drug and human-trafficking were amongst the places’ illegal tendencies, nothing new, right? Bruce explained Sal was cutting a fine-line between what the police would let fall under the radar and sending in a whole SWAT-unit to shut it down. _Wonderland_, as it had been named was located within the public-sector; the Diamond District. That meant the mafioso was endangering innocent lives rather than exploiting the typical thugs hibernating throughout the East End.

Relocating was obvious. Its extravagant flashing lights and pretty girls dressed as bunnies could easily rise above the now degrading Iceberg-lounge four blocks down. The wealthy were being drawn to a danger from a different source, no-longer at the mercy of a fat-man dressed as a flightless bird instead flocking to Gotham’s oldest crook still in business.

He cursed under his breath noticing Tim was now completely out of sight, probably dragged into one of the backrooms for more _influential _attendees. Hopefully, he’s still thinking with the head that sits on his _neck_. That said, if he was anything like himself; they were screwed. Bruce wouldn’t be there to pick up the pieces. Not only could the billionaire draw too much attention to their presence, but this was a test. Tim had been _off_ lately; throwing his punches harder and getting sloppy round the edges. Dick spoke to Barbara before Bruce; she’d mentioned something about him reeking of alcohol the last time they’d been out patrolling The Narrows.

It wasn’t hard to see what Tim was going through, he’d been through it too and Jason? He died before having the chance. Tim Drake was craving independence and falling-out of love, with _Robin._

“I swear to god this better be good shit, or I’m getting hung by my nostrils for nothing.” Rouge warned, though with no real intimidation as she saw him begin to tinker with the door’s lock, rolling up the sleeves of the white dress-shirt, _god that was hot, _but worry played at the back of her mind as she was more concerned at the thought of Estelle catching them. The eccentric blonde woman was like a mother-hen at the club but knowing the volatile relationship Tim’s father had with Maroni; there’s no-telling what she’d do if she found one of her employees in the arms of a Wayne.

Tim held a hand out, she looked at it puzzled for a second before peering into his.

“Bobby-pin, got one?”

Rouge bit her lip. Never having done her own hair; the older girls helped, so taking even just one out meant running the risk of it all falling apart.

“I don’t-“

“Ro, I’ve got to jam this.” He pressed.

She ponders for a moment, before ultimately obliging. Patting around the loose bun, trying to find one that didn’t hold up the entire structure, unfortunately, luck wasn’t on her side nor the boy’s patience; seeing him check the designer watch, probably Galbaki. He silently huffed to himself as Rouge carefully tried to tangle her manicured fingers through the darker strands. Though, deciding it’d be better to take the brunt of it now and they could fix the damage later, Tim strutted over to Rouge, who was placed on the vanity-table with her legs crossed. 

Her movement faltered as he towers over her and in one swift motion, rips a dainty pin out from under the tied hair she squeezed her eyes shut in response and thankfully, both their prayers had been answered, there was no impact of anything falling against her back. Peeling open one eye she saw Tim kneel down before the golden knob, cringing as he bent the flimsy metal and shoved it in the insert twisting it around.

“Where’d you get it this time?” Rouge hesitantly enquired, the prospect of getting caught still hanging over her.

He pursed his lips; he wouldn’t lie, but the truth wasn’t the most pleasant option. Tim was angry at himself for what he’d done to get the substance yet there was no other route that didn’t involved Bruce ripping the mantel from him.

“Tim.”

“Falcone. Mario was selling,” there was a hitch in his voice that he struggles to hide with a cough. “he needed protection and Robin guaranteed it.”

“_Boy-blunder’s_ working for the mob now?”

“Dent was after him, public safety would be at risk.”

Rarely did the pair to discuss Tim’s other-half, but whenever it occurred, he always came across particularly callous and crude. It felt he couldn’t care less for the role. Now that Rouge thought about it, she’d never heard him refer to the vigilante in first-person. Typically, it was: _“Robin wanted to help.”_ or _“Robin had to do that.” _Not once had he ever said, _I_.

Whilst she didn’t have much of an affinity for the spandex and kevlar either, she could see the both the physical and mental damage it had done to him.

Robin had worn-out Tim Drake.

Rouge had noticed Tim’s varying attempts at covering scattered bruises and cuts with no avail, actually she was surprised he’d never asked her; with a colourful collection of cosmetics hoarded around the dresser there wasn’t much she couldn’t hide.

_ A couple of faint track-marks_ _perhaps_, she thought, her inner conscious rearing its ugly head.

Tim dug into the back pocket of his skinny jeans, pulling out a sheer black tube.

“We have no idea what’s in that. Fal-“

“It’s safe.”

“He gave it to _Robin_,” She crossed her arms speaking slowly then, leaning back against the cold mirror as Tim trapped himself between her legs, “don’t you think that’s slightly suspicious?”

“Ro, I said it’s fine.” He reassures his fingertips grazing her bare thigh, she flinches.

“I don’t know about this,” her could gut-instinct was screaming, _no._ “what mobster wouldn’t want to _off_ Batman’s sidekick with some cocaine laced in, in… fuck knows what!”

He pauses, clenching his jaw, “Will you just _trust _me. Why would _I_ ever put you in danger?”

“-because Mario never gave it to _you._”

Tim scoffed retreating back from the vanity he runs a hand through his tousled hair falling into one of the leather chairs, there was a sublet smirk playing on his lips. “Whatever happened to the girl that mindlessly injected _fucking_ fear-toxin?”

She internally gasped, _that was an old wound._ “Which was a mistake. We both know I learned my lesson,” but her volume began to increase as she clocked his growing disinterest and lack of acknowledgement, _he still wanted it._ “For god-sake Tim, I’m lucky to be alive!”

The events of that night would forever haunt them, but it there is a silent acceptance. She’d managed to get hold of the drug through Harleen Quinzel because her mother designed some signature faux boots, which conveniently Tim still didn’t know. Rouge was aware the dangers it brought but that only enticed her. Harleen noted it was diluted, thankfully. She had no idea the sheer power until it entered her bloodstream.

Finding her in hysterics; curled in a fetal position drooling, twitching and a strangled cry escaping. Four hours, Tim held her close, once carrying her limp figure from the marble floor to the bed. Desperately trying to ignore the burning scratches hitting his already weakened skin.

There’s a pregnant pause as he continues to idly fiddle with the plastic container. Rouge, wanting to be entertained, jumps off the glossy vanity knocking a few lipsticks onto the carpet. With a new-found optimism she slips into his lap, letting her legs dangle over the side, kicking off her painful heels listening as they hit the ground.

They relaxed peacefully in the chair as she viewed his slow, deep inhales, each one revealing more and more of a fresh scar over his collarbone, that was otherwise concealed under his shirt. Resting her head on his shoulder letting brief, hot puffs of her breath hit the hairs on the back of his neck. Tim’s hand gently running up and down her exposed leg. Neither felt an urge to address the decaying atmosphere, reaching a state of limbo and didn’t want to risk altering the fragile situation but alas someone had to.

“Hey,” she croaked though neither turned to look, “I’m sorry.”

Begrudgingly Tim sighed, he knew Rouge was right; just hoped she wouldn’t be.

“It’s not _Robin’s_ fault Tim.” Nestling in to his chest trying to draw any warmth she could.

“Dick’s probably looking for me.”

“Let him. Besides,” she teases lifting his chin, “I _might_ have some Molly left from the Gotham Gazette event.”

* * *

Rouge pushed her body from the counter, still her arms remained crossed. “You’re clearly not here for a _fuck_, so spill.”

“You know why I’m here, Ro. I spoke with your moth-“

"Oh! So she does pick up the phone!" She glares, then returns to her natural register. “So, then both know you have no interest in wearing anything other than a black three-piece.” She sneers, as he’s taken aback by her snippy attitude. 

“Ro,” he pauses for a moment, unsure of how to start, so he hastily gets to the point. “I know about the brothel, that’s what Maroni was running wasn’t he?”

The woman takes a sharp inhale waiting for him to continue.

“Estelle’s smart enough to destroy the physical evidence,” Tim lets out a dark chuckle, “but you’re not.”

“It’s not like this hasn’t been going on for_ years_,” she sees him roll his eyes at her deflection, “it’s how we met, _remember._ So, don’t pretend that you didn’t just shove it under the rug because I could get you high as a fucking kite.”

He bounces from his seat, walking towards her, “Being a_ waitress_ at Wonderland didn’t make you liable for a crime.”

“-and now all of a sudden it does!” she scoffed, “needn’t we forget Tim, you broke just as many of your precious _laws_ as I did.”

She cups his cheeks, it was strange; holding him for the first time in so long.

“I worked with what I had; didn’t have a Bruce or a Dick to look out for me. I had Estelle and Maroni,” Rouge sighed, “we aren’t all heirs to big corporations.”

He shoves her off, “Don’t be so dramatic, you’ve got your mother.”

“Awfully bold of you to assume I’d be getting her company, since _she_ doesn’t even own it. Not only that, when the hell was she ever home? _Too busy in Metroville to check-in on her drugged-up kid”_

The stories were coming back to him, she was right. Edna Mode knew the streets of Gotham because she grew up on them. Her parents were immigrants, made scraps during the winter for their community and tried to live off the mass earnings for the rest of the year. Sal saved them from living in a cardboard box.

“Like it or not, Maroni has my back which means I have his.” She states, "I work for him, my mother's stays afloat. We don't charge our do-good clientele. Vigilantes like Batman _and_ Robin do the city a favour, so Mode does them one."

He bites his lip.

“God Tim, where do you think I got half my gear from? They’d throw it around like confetti so I could sell it like candy.” 

“-and then you cut me off.”

“The coke was killing us, and I couldn’t risk getting caught. Besides you had your new suit, so there was no longer a scramble for fabric and materials.”

"Dirty money funded Red Robin?"

She nods, holding back a chuckle.

“Money makes the world go round Tim, doesn't matter where it came from." She looks to him, "how you use it, is what matters boy-wonder."

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a bit of fun, but I actually really liked Rouge. Plus, I think she one of the only original characters I have that isn't a mother - since, y'know the other two are in high school and not living pre-1950.


End file.
